Nestori Eddason
((For newer members; all the information on this page is free to be known by members of the Hall, IC - similarly if you want to wait and find out in RP that's fine too. If you want to form a connection over something specific, please contact Nestori's phys-rep!)) An Oathsworn Member of Sigehold, now Heroic Dead Nestori was the son of the wise Thane Eda of Alhearth and Brother to Kindra and Anya. He later was dedicated to the Virtue of Ambition, and after travelling for a short while after their leaving Skarsind, joined Sigehold as a crow of the hall. He was known for his abilities as a scop, as well as a healer and fighter. He fell on the field of battle in the Winter of 381. Early Years. Nestori was the oldest of the children to Than Eda, and had been thought to be favourite to replace her as Thane, but as Nestori grew into a young man, the thought of becoming Thane seemed quite unpalatable, he was much happier amongst the people singing songs, telling stories and smoking new and exciting herbs. In-fact, Nestori did not aspire to anything beyond his own means, and was content in his own life as the Hall’s keeper of the herbs. He would sometimes follow his mother and sister to the battlefield in order to give some support as a healer (and more often than not to keep the troops entertained), but, though he was an adept skirmisher and wielder of blades, he did not seek the good death. He would sometimes trade herbs between other halls, where he would use this opportunity to talk to the scops of the halls to learn new songs and stories. One one trip, during the Thule invasion of 377 his trade wagon was ambushed and left for dead on a snowy bank to the south of crows ridge. He writes in his diary: Winter Y376 ‘The snow was covered in blood, my blood, and darkness was setting in at the corners of my vision. I knew it was most likely my end. I remember chuckling to myself that I had achieved a good death by accident, and that my sisters would probably be annoyed for that reason. I awoke maybe minutes, maybe an hour or so later? The sky was purple with the night setting in and above me, in the branches of an oak, a rook sat looking at me; it’s eyes piercing me to my very soul. It hopped to the next tree, and for some reason I thought – I should follow it, despite my every fibre screaming in pain – and so I did. Eventually the thing led me to a small grove, and a cave lined with the exact herbs I needed to stem my bleeding and give me relief from pain. Whilst I sat in the cave for the next few days as my wounds healed, I thought of the things important to my life – my family, my hall, my people and how the Thule invasion had not only struck at their livelihoods, but stripped them of their ambitions, their goals and their motivations. I had never achieved anything, and had died well by accident, but my people – they had strived and dedicated themselves to their own betterment, and they were left with smoke and ruin. It fell to me that given my position, my abilities as a scop I could potentially give them back their ambitions. The small rook, that had been my constant companion for the past few days, eventually left me – I had thought that maybe that was the sign that I was a lost hope? The effect of the limited herbs available had made me increasingly anxious and feverish. Again, I fell into darkness, and when I awoke, a mystic, with strong naga lineage stood, tending to my wounds. I didn’t understand all he said due to his strong accents and pronounced hissing, but he told me that a bird had led him to me, and that I was quite lucky to be alive at all. I asked his name, but after shuffling through a few strange cards he had to hand, he said it was not important and that I should rest and should be fit to travel by the morning. When I awoke, he was gone and I set out… I think it is time I made good on my intention of making the ambitions of others, my own ambition.’ After a year of tutelage under his hall’s crow, Godric, he was dedicated to ambition. Upon the death of his Mother and his hall’s destruction he, his sisters and a few travelling companions set out to Hahnmark to find a new land to settle. It is here that he and his sister came upon Sigehold. Sigehold Nestori quickly took to life in Sigehold, giving advice where he could and tending to the herbs amongst its thick forests. Though not all the hall took to his jovial and sometimes abrasive nature, he was still well liked and spent many of his days and evenings writing new songs, and performing them at Liissa’s bar. He was sworn in, in the Spring of Y381 as he was required to carry the banner for the Heart of the mark. He attempted many times to start an apprentices guild during his times as anvil, and had a few young apprentices on its books. Unfortunately – in the Winter of Y381, he perished on a Skirmish to the Black Plateau, cut down by Grendel cultists and sacrificed on an altar of Siakha. The final entry in his diary reads; ‘Winter Y381 - I feel there is a change in the air. I sit here, alone, drinking a quick round before my skirmish into Spire (though I am not particularly happy to return, but there are people who require my help), and feeling as though most of what I had set out to accomplish has been completed, or the seeds have been planted to continue that. I’m not sure people will need much more? I do not know. I am both happy and sad that people no longer require my gentle guidance – my sister in particular. She has come from a dark place, and I would hope with my constant presence, has finally arrived to a place where she can lead and change the scope of our nation - I think, no, I know she will. I think I am happy, though for some reason this makes me sad.’ Due to his remains being lost, his remaining possessions were interred into the Swamps of Kallavesa – where they shall remain. Both his drum (The beating heart of the mark) and his writings were given to Sigvar Yverson, as a scop who was able to use them both. Sigvar, however, has published a great deal of the writings, so that Nestori’s songs will live on in other halls. Songs of Nestori'''' # The Freeborn Corsairs - Written in the style of the Brass Coast # Futility - Written in the Varushkan style # A Warming Fire - Written for the Festival of Fire - Winter Y381 # Lament - A lament for loss in death and taking solice in reincanation - Part written by Sigvar Yverson